The Hot Dog
by darth tasuki
Summary: Have you ever wondered how the shoemaker in (shoot--I forget which episode) Trigun met his untimely demise? We did. Thus, a strange fanfiction was born. Rated PG-13 for gruesome aspects... I think... XD Added into horror because of requests


This is one of the first joint-stories I have done. Co-author credit goes to my friend, Kouban Agari. This is completely zany, I know. It all started when we asked each other what on earth happened to the shoemaker... We thought this was a morbid amusing answer. Enjoy. 

*Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine or Kouban's. Don't sue us.*

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The Hot Dog

The mid-summer suns shone in the pure blue sky, searing the parched earth below. It was one of those days that could make anyone wish he were never born on the scorched, desert planet. But even in his huge, red, and very, very warm trenchcoat, Vash the Stampede was too busy reliving memories to worry about sunstroke. He usually was. 

However, suddenly the world exploded around him. A large basketball was smashed into his face. "Agggggggggg!" He screamed as some little kids ran up to him. Apologizing profusely, they tried to pry the ball from his lips. "Suction-lips! How to hold the ball on your face using only your face!" he bellowed, chasing after them to wring their necks. Of course, to really do something like that was quite beyond Vash's metal capacity--he decided to buy them ice cream instead. 

Vash felt as if everything was going his way, for once. There were no ugly morons terrorizing people or destroying towns. He was happy. Well, almost. The extra ice cream he had bought for the homeless kid was melting. The girl had run away from him. A small pang of sadness touched his smiling heart. If only everyone could trust each other, he thought, if only they could have a reason to. 

The thought had barely crossed his mind when the surroundings tuned magenta. Time seemed to freeze; Vash mentally shook his head. Things like this just weren't supposed to happen. When was the last time he'd seen the sky turn pink? He'd seen it green, yellow on occasion, but magenta?

Vash suddenly had that strange pang of fear. Something just was not right, was anything ever right? Then despite the time freeze a man appeared on the screen. He wore a white coat. Large, cruel spikes protruded from his shoulder pad. There seemed to be a human skull on one of his arms. Vaguely, Vash wondered why no one else had noticed. Not everyone wore human bones as accessories, and those who did rarely sported something as blatant as a skull. Sleek, messy blue hair flowed on the man's face. Vash could sense a single, golden eye peering at him, and could almost feel the man's mocking smile. Sweat beaded on Vash's forehead. Something strange was happening in his brain, and this man, he felt sure, was the catalyst. 

"Who are you?" Vash mentally demanded. 

The man seemed to ignore him for a moment. He sat down on a park bench behind Vash, pulled a hot dog from his paper bag, and munched thoughtfully. Licking his lips, he mentally responed, in a lazy, yet almost threatening voice. "Legato." He smiled ever so slightly. "Legato Bluesummers." 

"What do you want?" Vash continued to demand. "And _what is that_ you are eating!?"

"Food," Legato chuckled sardonically. Vash glowered. "A hot dog. I can leave one for you, if you want." He patted the bag at his side fondly. "Just a little present for you, you understand. Or I can give it to her." Vash saw, to his horror and disgust, that the blue-haired man was motioning to the little girl who'd refused an ice cream. He could feel Legato's mental powers working on the girl. She grinned and walked up to him trustingly, as only a child can.

"Well I can see that it is a hot dog! But what kind is it? It smells funny."

"Your nose must be very keenly attuned. A pity, because everyone around you is sweating. Your interests must be highly misplaced. If you are a connoisseur of hot dogs, perhaps you should take up work in the food industry." He grinned and leaned back. "Of course," he shot back mentally, "your senses haven't deceived you. I just so happen to have one extra hot dog. It's a special one: the one you seem so interested in. I'll leave it here for you. It's a present." Legato slapped himself in the forehead. "Oh I almost forgot what I came for. Your life."

"What? Did you poison the hot dog?" Vash snapped into the other man's head.

"I guess that _was_ a bit melodramatic. And no, I haven't poisoned it. There is nothing foreign on it but a bun, mustard, ketchup... and relish. I hope you like relish?" He laughed, what might have been pleasant laughter from anyone else, but not Legato. Nothing from Legato Bluesummers could be pleasant. He eyed the sack warily as Legato grinned and stalked away. 

"I really hate relish, _Legato." _Vash sneered. 

"Really, I thought you liked relish, well , no matter I'll just give it to the girl. At least _she_ liked relish."

Vash quickly shook his head. He knew he didn't want anything to happen to a little girl. "Ha ha, did I say I hated relish? I meant, I hate...uh... dill pickles! Yes! Dill pickles! And, since it's a... a thing, it won't have pickles on it, right?" Vash opened his mouth and laughed aloud. 

Meryl and Millie, the insurance girls who followed him around, cast him strange glances. "Is Mr. Vash talking to himself?" Millie asked.

"I can see why people fear him," Meryl said dryly. "Anyone with a laugh that psychopathic really should be locked up."

"Clever," Legato mused mentally. "But, pickles and relish are essentially the same. If you really don't want this hot dog I could always give it to one of your friends here..."

"No, no!" Vash started screaming aloud. "I really like pickles! I meant, I hate _onions _on my hot dogs! I just loooooove relish!"

The insurance girls were now openly gaping, along with everyone else in earshot. "Shall I call the nut wagon?" a little boy whispered. Meryl looked uncertain, but finally shook her head.

Legato was clearly amused. "But some relishes have onions. This one happens to." Vash wore a panic-stricken look. "Shall I give it to the little girl? She still looks hungry."

"Did I say onions?" Vash continued to speak aloud, oblivious to the glances everyone was chucking at him. "I meant cucumbers! I hate cucumbers!"

"Vash, have you ever wondered where pickles come from?" Legato grinned.

"I... was just kidding! Ha ha! You know what a joker I am! I actually hate vinegar! Ha ha! Not likely to be any vinegar on my hot dog, eh?"

"Are you sure I can't call the nut wagon?" the boy asked Meryl again. This time, she didn't say anything.

"What do you think turns cucumbers into pickles?" Legato asked.

"Red peppers! That's it! I hate red peppers!"

"Those are in relish!" snapped Legato.

"I actually, between the two of us, hate xantham gum more than anything else! That, yellow 5, and polysorbate 80! I can't stand them! THAT is what I meant!"

Legato looked hesitant. "Uh hold on." Legato pulled a jar out of his paper bag. "Well to bad Vash, all of those things just so happen to be in RELISH!!!" 

"Ummm, You know? I was only joking about all of those things really. I LOVE RELISH!!"

Legato cast a bemused look at the sweating Vash. "It's a pity," he transmitted in a lethally soft voice, "that you'll be dead soon. I thought you were funny." He got up and walked away from the bench. "Goodbye, Vash the Stampede," he laughed.

Legato was laughing to himself. Vash knew the hot dog smelled funny but he didn't know why.

Just then a woman came running up. "Anybody!" she screamed, calling the attention off of Vash and onto herself. "My husband! He isn't talking to me, it's murder! Murder!"

Vash gazed curiously at the paper bag. Gingerly, he walked over to it and picked up the hot dog. For all intents and purposes, it was just a normal hot dog. The surface of its skin was a little bumpier than he remembered hot dogs being, and it smelled like some peoples' bad breath, but the ketchup mostly covered it up. It actually looked pretty tasty.

He took a bite. It seemed a bit raw, and chewy. He had to pull hard to get what seemed like little rubber bands loose. He thought that those things were only in Chicken McNuggets, but apparently, tendons were now a part of hot dogs, as well. Vash thought that it must have been a while since he had had a hot dog.

While he was munching on the hot dog, Vash took a look at what else was in the bag. The hot dog fell from his suddenly clammy fingers, and his mouth spilled out its contents. In the bag was a head--the head of a shoemaker. 

Its tongue was missing. 


End file.
